Behind your meadow,
lives my shadow,
in front of your guns,
were the frozen sons.
the eagle doesn't weep,
rather its downward trip,
is to live.
did you come after the red song?
what did you win,
blessings,love,hate or sin?
my pain or your disdain?
(i think)the gold,
to the beard you sold.
clang clang clang,
your army's sword sang,
the music spilled,
the river flowed,
and your name echoed.
we had the red flags,
not the money sacks.
my foolish foe,
our sickle is not to kill,
but to reap and feed,
even to the dead.
but i still smile,
'coz till a hundred miles,
i see the trail you left,
do you know?
when you sworded your way out,
you left the bloodtrail throughout,
the barren road.
your sword went dripping blood,
and ha ha my friend,
the human blood is red.
so your sword,
was our brush,
we painted our flag.
the deaths you left behind,
were brown bears in the grind,
the bear will rise,
and i surmise,
the coat of the giant,
will shine red!
